


Epilogue

by nishizono



Series: Principles of Morality [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Long time no see! I've gotten a lot of questions about this series, specifically whether or not I intend to finish it. After a three year hiatus, I've come back and re-read everything, and decided that with this epilogue, the story is done. </p><p>Yes, there's still the question of Mycroft's meddling, but that's secondary to the main plot, which was always about Sherlock and Greg. This epilogue takes place twelve years after the beginning of the series, and I hope it answers some of the lingering questions as to how their story ends.</p><p>Thank you to everyone who has commented and left me love, and especially to those of you who have been following my drivel all these years. I truly love you guys.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see! I've gotten a lot of questions about this series, specifically whether or not I intend to finish it. After a three year hiatus, I've come back and re-read everything, and decided that with this epilogue, the story is done. 
> 
> Yes, there's still the question of Mycroft's meddling, but that's secondary to the main plot, which was always about Sherlock and Greg. This epilogue takes place twelve years after the beginning of the series, and I hope it answers some of the lingering questions as to how their story ends.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left me love, and especially to those of you who have been following my drivel all these years. I truly love you guys.

“So,” says Lestrade, “John Watson.”

Sherlock, who's been leaning against the counter wearing nothing but boxer briefs and one of Lestrade's old t-shirts, quirks an eyebrow. “Is my new flatmate.”

Lestrade flips the bacon and presses it down into the frying pan with the spatula. It hisses, and for just a moment he feels triumphant, even if it's just a tiny victory over an already-dead piece of meat. And Jesus Christ, he's losing it. Sherlock bloody Holmes has finally driven him mad.

“You've met him,” says Sherlock. He's got that tilt to his head, the one that says he's just found a new mystery to solve, and it doesn't take a genius to know _who_ that puzzle is. Lestrade's suspicions are confirmed when, a moment later, Sherlock says, “You never stop surprising me, Greg. Really? John?”

“Shove over,” Lestrade mutters, elbowing Sherlock in the ribs so he can get to the kettle and switch it on. He can feel Sherlock watching him, looking for the tiniest nuance in gesture or expression, and he fights to keep himself calm. Most of the time, Sherlock's attention is flattering, but times like this, it's bloody aggravating.

“Ask me,” says Sherlock.

Lestrade's jaw clenches, and his hand tightens on the spatula, but it's no use. They'll have this argument again and again until he relents, so he tosses the spatula down on the counter and snaps, “Fine. Is he gay?”

Sherlock laughs, the bastard, and Lestrade has never, _ever_ wanted to hit him, but right about now, he's thinking a sound spanking might do them both some good. Finally, Sherlock says, “I really haven't the faintest idea, Greg. I'm not sure _he_ knows.”

“I see,” says Lestrade. He picks the spatula up again and needlessly flips the bacon. It'll be too crispy at this rate, and Sherlock will complain, but at the moment, he doesn't care. If anything, he's hoping for a fight over something so domestic, just so he can stop wondering whether the last twelve years with Sherlock have suddenly gone to shit without him knowing it. 

But of course Sherlock doesn't say a word about the bacon.

They're both quiet for awhile, and Lestrade knows this kind of silence can go one of two ways: it can end in a screaming row that has Sherlock storming out and ignoring his calls for four days, or it can peter out like it never happened. Lestrade is, of course, hoping for the latter.

“He asked me if I was,” says Sherlock after awhile. “Gay, I mean. In a very roundabout, very John Watson way.”

“Oh?” Lestrade tries to keep his tone light, but he knows it isn't working. The thought of Sherlock with _anyone_ makes him sick, but after seeing the two of them together and how close they were after what? A day together? Less than? Lestrade has never hated anyone as much as he hates John Watson, but he has to know. He might be masochist, but he _has_ to know, so he asks, finally, “What did you tell him?”

“I told him--” Sherlock hesitates, and Lestrade wonders how it's possible for that silence be the sound of his universe collapsing. But then Sherlock moves closer, creeps up behind him and twines his too-skinny arms around Lestrade's waist, kisses the side of his neck and whispers, like he's almost too shy to say it out loud, “I told him I was married to my job.”

“I love you,” says Lestrade. He just blurts it out without any planning or finesse whatsoever. For twelve fucking years he's been waiting for this moment, letting it build up inside him until it was so huge that sometimes he wondered if it would just burst through his chest and kill him, and _this_ is how it ends. He sucks in a gasping breath, like maybe he can snatch the words back, and holds it. 

Behind him, Sherlock is silent. 

“I'm sorry,” says Lestrade, panicked. “I don't know what the hell I was thinking. That's-- that's not how I meant to--” and it's not like him to stutter, but god damn it, he needs Sherlock to _say something_.

But Sherlock does the next best thing: he pulls back, spins Lestrade around to face him, and crushes their mouths together with a desperation that Lestrade hasn't seen since their first night together. Sherlock's fingers are in Lestrade's hair, and his tongue is in Lestrade's mouth, and he's whimpering like the boy he'd been when they met. Lestrade is overwhelmed, knocked completely off his game if he ever had one to begin with, but then he hauls Sherlock close and kisses him-- kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him until he's reeling.

Sherlock is the first to pull away, gasping for breath and burying his face against the side of Lestrade's neck. His shoulders are trembling, but he's not crying, and thank god for small mercies because Lestrade has never seen Sherlock cry, and he doesn't know what he'd do if he did.

And he's not expecting anything, not really, so when Sherlock pulls back and looks up at him-- _beams_ at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world-- and says, “the bacon is burning,” it's more than enough. 

It's everything.


End file.
